


nasty fall

by technorat



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Violence, post-TFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 14:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17868611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technorat/pseuds/technorat
Summary: Brendol Hux has always been there to take pleasure in his son's failures.Starkiller is perhaps his greatest.





	nasty fall

**Author's Note:**

> This fic took me longer than I expected! It's for the "kick them while they're down" prompt for the Bad Things Happen Bingo. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> you can find me [here](http://gaygalaxyguy.tumblr.com) on tumblr and you can find me [here](https://twitter.com/gay_galaxy_guy) on twitter.
> 
> warnings: violence | references to child abuse

_“Armitage. Would you care to explain yourself?” Brendol sits behind her desk, illuminated from the lamp sitting before him. It makes him look wicked, the shadows along his face making his cheeks look hollow, the light reflecting across pale eyes._

_Armitage stands before him, in the full dress uniform provided to cadets. He stands straight, his hands kept behind his back. He does not allow himself to shiver._

_“What do you mean, sir?” he asks, hating the way his voice cracks._

_It is the wrong thing to say, of course. Brendol turns on a hologram, the scores from his physical combat course coming to life._

_He did not score poorly, despite his thin frame. But he did not earn the top score._

_HUX, A._

_His name is highlighted in bitter, angry red as the third highest rank._

_But it is not good enough, never good enough._

_“I apologize sir,” Armitage says._

_“You’re weak. Foolish. Useless.”_

_Armitage breathes slowly, never looking away from his father’s eyes._

_“Just like your mother.”_

_The mother he could hardly remember._

_Brendol rises from the desk, pulling off his leather gloves and draws his hand back, hitting Armitage across the face._

_When Armitage does fall, Brendol is sure to kick him between his ribs._

_*_

Years later, he can feel that same sharp heel between his ribcages. Perhaps not physically, but the disdain in his father’s voice is nearly as bad as the pain of broken ribs.

 _“And so you’ve lost Starkiller_ ,” Brendol says, spittle flying visible in even the holo. _“What good is a weapon that can only be used once? What do you have to say for yourself, boy?”_

Hux is used to his father’s tirades whenever a single thing went wrong.

Instead of truly listening, he pictures his hands around Brendol’s fat neck, pictures the man turning blue, pictures his death. Of course, Hux would not do such a thing, so obviously traced back to himself.

No, poisoning would be… _adequate_.

“I apologize, sir,” he says, hands held behind his back. Hux’s fingers dig into the palm of his hands, with only the leather of his gloves as a layer of protection. “The Rebellion—”

Brendol holds up a hand. _“I don’t want to hear excuses. Not from you.”_

Hux presses his lips together, holding back a sneer. “Of course, sir.”

“ _Make preparations for my arrival. I will be inspecting your ship in two cycles._ ”

Without even a courteous goodbye, Brendol cuts off the feed.

Only when he is alone, does Hux allow himself to rest his head in the palms of his hands.

*

Cycles blur together. He has little time to organize things for his father's stay, assigning him the sleeping quarters fit for a Grand Admiral--all the way on the other side of the ship. Hux eats little, sleeps less,

Nothing is as it should be to meet Brendol Hux's approval.

But, he thinks bitterly, nothing ever _is_ , not when it has anything to do with one Armitage Hux.

He stares out into the abyss of space just past the Bridge's windows and thinks on how satisfying it would be to shove his father out of an airlock.

"You're thinking loudly today," Ren says, wordlessly stepping to Hux's side. Without that strange mask of his, Ren’s gaze feels heavy, heavier than the usual. A prickle runs down the length of Hux’s spine.

"What do you want, Ren?" Hux asks, under his breath.

He can already see some officers slow their typing, interested in witnessing the halted, strange interactions between their commanders. The completely unauthorized forums would be abuzz with gossip later on. Hux could groan, dreading a lot of strange behavior in the younger officers and strange, often creepy, pornographic works of fiction about himself and a certain Knight of Ren. (Those threads within online forums were not purged, if only for practicality. Why throw away something that kept crew morale high that came at absolutely no cost to High Command?)

Ren prowls around him, less like a predator and more like some sort of kicked dog. He tilts his head to the side. “You’re… _agitated_.”

Hux refuses to look at him, to look at the strange creature that, though exited outside of the ranks of the First Order, somehow is his co-commander. Ren sounds _excited_ about Hux’s embarrassment.

Before, when Ren still had his helmet, Hux had been utterly convinced that he was a xeno. Someone so wild could not possibly be human.

Alas.

Ren steps closer, into Hux’s space, until he could _smell_ him: of ozone and musk and the scent of the bacta patches that are stuck along the wound that scavenger girl gave him before leaving him to _die_ —

Hux doesn’t realize he’s raised his hand, until he can feel the warmth radiating from Ren’s chest, all of two layers—his glove, Ren’s tunic—separating skin from skin. Hux pulls away as if burned.

Of course, this doesn’t escape Ren, who preens and bears his teeth in what appears to be a grin. “Careful General, you’re blushing.”

Hux raises his brows. “Tell me, Ren, how many drugs has Medbay administered to you?” he says, quietly.

“Not enough,” Ren replies. He walks away, very clearly favoring one side, his fists clenched and trembling. He leaves, as suddenly as he had arrived.

It is a good thing, Hux tells himself, as the officers focus solely on their work once again. He refuses to miss Ren’s company.

*

When Brendol Hux arrives, he makes no small thing of it. Brendol does not wait for Hux to greet him. In fact, he had arrived an entire shift ahead of schedule.

Hux downs a cup of caf, the chalky remnants of a stir clinging to the bottom of his cup, as he marches to the creche.

His father had never really liked children. Could scarcely tolerate them. Hux could attest to that. Of all the places he could inspect, Brendol would do the most damage there.

Hux could attest to that too.

The creche housed some of their youngest Stormtrooper recruits—freshly plucked from orphanages or bought from uncaring parents. Their loyalty came partly from the training program, true, but a great deal of it was based on a stable environment, one that catered to their needs.

Brendol Hux did not see eye to eye with Hux’s version of the program. He would not hesitate to terrorize those children when Hux worked so hard to condition them to trust those who bear the mark of the First Order.

Officers and ‘troopers salute to him as he breezes by, empty coat sleeves acting as some sort of make-shift cloak. It should make him look ridiculous.

At the creche, Hux inputs his codes and marches in, prepared for just about anything other than what he sees.

Brendol Hux is there, standing, face several blotchy, ugly shades of red, uniform buttoned up and around his fat neck. The children don’t seem to pay him any mind, instead chattering about a seated Ren, some of them sitting beside him, copying his every move.

“Sir,” Hux says, to his father. Then, “Ren.”

Both men look at him. Fury is painted across Brendol’s face. Amusement is on Ren’s.

Hux can only wonder how Brendol had dealt with a drug-addled Ren and for how long. He schools his face and does not let any of his thoughts show.

“Boy—” Brendol says.

“General Hux,” Ren says, interrupting his father. The children look at Brendol, tittering when the commandant grows a brighter shade of red. “How kind of you to join us.”

He sounds genuine. Again, the effect of the drugs.

The Knight would not be so friendly, were it not for the amount of pain medication swimming in his system, enough to knock out a bantha.

“You’ll take me on a tour of your ship,” Brendol orders. _So that I may point out all your errors_ , remains unspoken.

The invisible wound of Starkiller prickles, just beneath Hux’s skin. He wets his mouth and—

“Later,” Ren says. A child crawls across his lap and tugs at his overgrown hair. Ren pats the child’s head in a clumsy manner that is almost endearing.

Brendol seethes, his lips thinning to a fine line. “And who might _you_ be to order me around?” He puffs up, self-important, as he always does. “You should be sent for reconditioning. I see you let your men go, Armitage. Do you really allow such blatant violations of regulations? What else—”

Ren holds up a hand, fist clenched, as Brendol hangs in the air, red face turning purple. But he does not look at the man. Instead, Ren’s eyes bore into Hux.

“Should I kill him?” Ren asks him, sweetly.

The children have gone silent, eyes wide and mouths fallen open. This is perhaps not the worst thing they’ve ever seen, being trained to be Stormtroopers and having the backgrounds they do. The child that had been tugging on Ren’s hair, scrambles away, back to their peers.

“No,” Hux says, voice cracking. He clears his throat and refuses to acknowledge his momentary weakness. “No. You must put him down, Ren.”

Ren does so, with a shrug. But Hux had not specified to be gentle.

Brendol falls on his knees, clutching at his throat. He rips open his collar, tiny buttons flying across the room. His purpled face turns red once more.

When Brendol does rise to his feet, an eternity later, he doesn’t say a word but scrambles to leave the creche as quickly as he can.

The door slides shut behind him, and the angry stomping of his boots. Hux lets out a sigh. He will inevitably deal with the fallout of his father’s anger another cycle.

“Why didn’t you let me kill him?” Ren asks, terribly morbid for where they are.

Some of the caretaker officers come out from their hiding spots, to comfort the children and lead them away. They eye Ren with a healthy dose of fear, but any officer would know to fear Brendol more.

Hux leans forwards, to examine the warm amber of Ren’s eyes. He is curious, head tilted to the side, dark hair standing in strange ways, from the tugging of that child.

“I could have killed him for you,” Ren says plainly.

He would not have been punished for such a thing.

Hux shakes his head.

Brendol came to kick Hux when he was down. Someday, Hux intended on returning the favor.

Someday, Hux would have his revenge for so many years of backhanded blows and steel-toed boots and hours upon hours locked away in a closet, with barely enough room to stand.

Someday, Brendol Hux would die painfully, with a humiliation known to the Galaxy.

Ren smiles, hearing all of Hux’s thoughts.

“I look forwards to seeing the day.”


End file.
